Trick, Treat, or Die

    I'd been up all night for three days straight, but everything was ready.

    I had gotten permission from the county to outfit the old, abandoned mansion down the street as a haunted house. Inside, I'd prepared a series of scary-as-hell surprises for any trick-or-treater who dared ring the doorbell. I was certain, beyond any doubt, that I had created the scariest trick-or-treat EVER.

    As the sun began to set on Halloween, I called together everyone who was helping me with the project. There were a half-dozen of us, and each person was costumed in Hollywood-worthy attire. "Alright everyone," I said, "let's get into places; listen for my cues over your headsets."

    The group dispersed into the house. Each had a role to play; I was the Grim Reaper; I would stand on stilts for the added fright factor - the last thing they encountered before they left the house.

    We did actually have candy just inside the door, by the way, just in case we had kids too young to scare to death.

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    As the night wore on, I began to worry; finally, the door burst open and the skeleton walked in. "13-ish-year-old boy en route," he said. "Like, two minutes maybe."

    "Great," I replied, putting on the stilts and hiding in a closet. Over the radio, I said, "Cue lights, music; fog machine to high. Ghost be ready."

    A rolling fog swept down the stairs, flowing over the floor. Over hidden speakers, sounds of moaning, electrical sparks, and crackling flames came from different parts of the house, so quiet you could barely hear them. Special black lights were turned on, which made it seem as though the house actually had an unearthly glow about it.

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    I could barely hear the screams and sound effects as the various people and things in the house scared the kid to death. But I knew when it was my turn, and I stepped out into the foyer.

    He was, as I had been told, about 13. He wore a Dracula costume, complete with cape and medallion, and his face had been painted deathly white. But something was wrong. He wasn't shaking, and he'd stopped screaming. In fact, he was looking right at me with a smile on his face that revealed the gleam of fake fangs.

    I paused, confused. In that second's hesitation, the kid jumped at me with superhuman skill. He knocked me to the floor, giving me a nasty blow to the head. Still strapped into the stilts, I couldn't stand again; I flailed, trying to push the kid off of me. But he was incredibly strong, and I couldn't do anything.

    The last thing I remember from that Halloween night was the feeling of fangs sinking into my neck. I thought I'd created the scariest trick-or-treat ever; it turns out that the trick-or-treater was even scarier.

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